Hemorrhage
Disclaimer: *looks around* Nope, I don't have any paperwork that tells me that I own this.
000/000
Sometimes Desmond could see golden eyes peering out from the shadows in the corner of his room. Always in his peripheral did the modern day Novice assassin see those gleaming eyes. He would whip his head around, activating his Eagle Vision. But there was no one there. At least physically there was no one. He dare not speak of it to Lucy or Rebecca. And Shaun would just tell him to suck it up like a man. What a pickle. In a way, Desmond already knew who those eyes belonged to. Sometimes they were Altaïr's narrow gaze and other times they were Ezio's lazy stare.
Currently the former bartender was alone in his room, fiddling an iPad since the Animus was being upgraded by Rebecca. He sat at the foot of his bed with his legs hanging over the edge. He was hunched over the iPad laying on his lap. With the slightest touch from his fingertips, Desmond would scroll through a news article on CNN or FoxNews. Quickly he grew bored with the news and accessed an e-book that he had been wanting to read for a while. Just as he finished the first three pages, he felt a hard body press up against his back. Desmond stiffened in surprise when Renaissance Italian was drawled at him, lips pressing against the delicate outer shell of his left ear.
"Little descendant, we meet at last."
"You're not real. You're not real," Desmond chanted. His eyes glared down at the iPad. "Not real."
"We are quite real, descendant," another voice said, this time from in front of him in Classical Arabic.
Desmond slowly looked up to stare with wide chocolate brown eyes at the intimidating image of Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad in full Assassin regalia. He started to tremble.
"Oh, our little fledgling is shaking, Ancestor," Ezio Auditore da Firenze cooed. His strong arms wrapped around the modern Novice assassin's shoulders from behind. He pressed his lips against Desmond's nape. "Don't be frightened."
Desmond jumped up, threw the iPad on the bed, and ran out his room screaming.
000/000
"So they talked to you?" Lucy asked skeptically. "And touched you?"
"Whoa," Rebecca chimed in from her work on the Animus. "You must have been tripping balls." Thankfully Shaun had gone a supply run so he had no snarky comments to throw in the discussion.
"Becca!" the blonde woman snapped. "Don't take this so lightly!" She turned back to Desmond. "Maybe we shouldn't put you in the Animus for a few days."
Desmond shook his head. "I don't know, Lucy. I mean, just because I'm going crazy doesn't mean that what I do in the Animus should be stopped. It's important, right?" he argued.
"But the Bleeding Effect is obviously getting out of hand if you're seeing and even managing to be touched by your ancestors!"
"Yeah! We can't afford to lose you to the crazy!" Rebecca said with out of place cheer.
"Shut up, Becca!"
"Sorry."
"Maybe it was a one-time thing," Desmond said hopefully. "Maybe it won't happen again. Besides, I won't be in the Animus for a few days anyway since Rebecca here is still working on her."
"Yeah, I'm still working on Baby."
Lucy sighed. "Fine. But if it happens again, you will tell me and you won't be going back in for a month. You'll be helping Shaun with his research instead," she said.
"Oh he'd love that," Desmond drawled. He then grunted. "Deal."
"Good. Why don't you get some rest, okay? I've got to work on my own stuff on my computer."
"Alright, I can relax. But umm...Can I... can I stay in here though?"
Rebecca's brown-haired head popped up from under her Baby. "Sure thing, man. Just chill out here with us." She grinned and disappeared back under to tweak with the ports. Desmond sat in the brunette's butterfly chair by her desk, practically melting into it. The sound of fingers tapping against computer keys filled the air, soothing his nerves. With a yawn, he slowly drifted into a doze.
000/000
Desmond pulled on a pair of black pajama pants up his long legs. After tightening the drawstring, he put his towel on his head to rub away the moisture soaking his short hair. The white towel was then draped around his bare shoulders and he reached out to wipe away the fog on the mirror. Looking at his reflection, the brunet could see the stress clearly writ on his face. Faint lines bracketed the corners of his mouth. He scowled and turned around, opening his bathroom door. He looked up and froze, his hand still gripping the doorknob.
Sitting on Desmond's bed was a sensually lounging Ezio. The Italian smiled. "Isn't that a nice sight?" he purred, his eyelids falling to half-mast and a slow smile curving his scarred lips. "Good evening."
Desmond squeaked and hurriedly reentered the bathroom, slamming the door closed behind him. He choked on his next breath and sagged against the door. "Oh shit no..." he moaned.
Altaïr was standing in the middle of the bathroom. He had been poking at the sink and he looked up at his descendant. His brows furrowed in a frown. "You shouldn't have run away last time," he said coolly. "You are of my blood; show some courage."
The former bartender pointed at him with a shaking hand. "Fuck you," he hissed through clenched teeth. "This is not happening! You hear me?"
"You shriek like a fishwife," Altaïr retorted. He stalked forward like a jungle cat. In a blur of movement, the Master Assassin slammed his hands on the door at either side of his descendant's head. He leaned forward slightly, his lips hovering over Desmond's by an inch. "Perhaps I should shut you up." A smirk graced his mouth at the younger man's sputter. He then pressed his lips against Desmond's open mouth, his tongue slipping in. He swallowed the whimper that issued from the Novice's throat. Trembling hands grasped the front of the Syrian's robes.
"You better not be kissing him without me there!" Ezio's muffled voice sang from the other side of the door. The doorknob rattled. "Best let me in now, sì?"
When the door was opened by Ezio, Altaïr wrapped an arm around Desmond's waist to steady him, the other was used to grab the front of the Renaissance assassin's shirt to pull him forward. With a laugh, the Italian molded himself against Desmond's bare back. He flung away the towel still around the youngest assassin's shoulders and pressed his hands against the front of Desmond's thighs. Slowly he trailed his fingers up those firm thighs, stopping at the sides of his groin. He pressed his lips against the moist skin at the crook of Desmond's neck, his tongue flicking out to taste.
Altaïr pulled away, giving one last suck to Desmond's lower lip. "And now you are silent," he teased. He bent his head down to leave a hickey at the younger's collarbone. A moan escaped from the former bartender's mouth.
"We are so lovely," Ezio crooned against the skin beneath his lips after he glanced at the mirror. He gave a little thrust of his hips against the bottom he was pressed against. He used one of his hands to cup Desmond's hardening cock. "Ah, a good size. Our lovely, lovely Desmond." He laughed when Altaïr used his free hand to grope the Italian's firm behind. "No more tattling on us, little descendant."
"No... more... ngh... tattling," Desmond moaned back.
Altaïr let out a low, rasping chuckle, recapturing his descendant's lips in another kiss.
000/000
END
Originally posted my Y!Gallery, and I think my LJ... don't quite remember...